Does the Nameless Painter Dream of Masterpieces? (2)
The reason I'd saved my clone-creation ability as much as possible was simple. ...The stronger the power, the more its weaknesses and countermeasures become obvious once others learn of it. Edmund binding my feet with the elves right from the start made that crystal clear.
──Kaaang!
Red figures identical to me. ...They blocked my sword. I'd definitely snapped his brush and severed his dominant right arm, yet Edmund was painting humans that looked exactly like me in midair, matching each of my copies one by one.
"...You've definitely gone mad."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Are all artists like this? Like moths throwing themselves into flames, painting with their own blood. Honestly, it was almost admirable.
"M-Master...!"
"Luna, support from the rear. Can you manage?"
I couldn't drag Luna into the front lines. She wasn't a combat mage to begin with. The ones who cast spells while charging ahead were the abnormal ones. She'd only just learned to use magic without a staff, and now I was asking her to fight in close quarters too? ...Only a madman could pull that off.
"Understood...!"
"Grab your staff first. Casting without it will drain your mana fast."
──Kagagang!
I barely managed to fend off the red figures. ...The painted forms were spawning faster than I could create clones. The battle's balance had collapsed. If Damian and the others regained their senses, could we turn this around?
"Shade, it seems you believe we can win once the rest of the party comes to their senses...."
"......?!!"
"Unfortunately, a creator carves and sculpts their own soul to make a work. We're not that soft."
Edmund smiled as he spoke, and tentacles burst from his severed arm. They twisted like human limbs before taking the shape of octopus legs, restoring his right hand and mending the torn canvas.
"...Have you given up on being human?"
"No. Right now, I am more purely human than any other being."
──Puhak!
When he swung his brush, red blood splattered across my companions in the back.
"Aaaah, aaaagh...!! My leg, my leg...!"
One of Isabella's legs was severed. ...Even though Damian, who could see the future, had squeezed out every last bit of strength to block it, that was the best he could do. The Hero didn't look much better either. He'd vomited filth and fish onto the floor, his face deathly pale.
"...I stopped the fatal wound, Shade."
How had he even managed to stand and block it? His willpower alone deserved recognition.
"Raybi, don't panic—heal them! You're the only one who can treat wounds from an Outer God!"
"Y-Yes...!"
I immediately gave the order to the Saintess Raybi, but—
"Pure reason. And because I'm blocking you with nothing but my own will."
──Puhak!
This time, a massive octopus leg shot down from the sky and bound Raybi and the others.
...The situation was dire.
"Master, don't worry about us—just fight!"
Thankfully, Luna kept casting spells to protect the others. Without her, the companions and elves would have been taken hostage long ago, forcing me to surrender.
The blades of wind sliced through the cephalopod limbs that resembled Cthulhu's fragments.
"Shade, is this really all you've got?"
Edmund was completely overwhelming my copies with sheer numbers of red clones. He spoke as if deliberately provoking me. ...Did he have some other motive? In the original story, this painter was supposed to be Luna's despair arc, yet—
"I feel this might be a little lacking as the final masterpiece of my life."
He looked happier than ever.
"Lacking?"
It didn't sound like mockery. More like he was trying to draw something out of me.... That was the tone.
"Your ability isn't mere copying. If it were truly just duplication...."
──Seuk.
Every time Edmund drew a single line, countless red figures poured out.
"...You would have been able to create them as quickly as I do, without any limit to their numbers."
"So what, quality over quantity?"
Kaaang! I used steel threads to bind the copies, stepping on their heads to seize the high ground. I was outnumbered nearly three to one. A single clone couldn't honestly match the enemies' creations.
"No, think a little more. If you truly inherited the soul of the First Hero...."
Edmund began painting again, creating a new form. A man with no eyes, nose, or mouth, but striking white hair. ...It resembled the First Hero I'd seen in nightmares. He was probably filling in the gaps with his imagination.
"...The best you can do with your ability isn't something as simple as cloning."
Thus, the pure-white Hero charged at me alongside the red copies. I had only needed to advance a little further.
"Kuhak...!"
──Puhuk.
A sword pierced the center of my chest. Unlike the red humans, the white Hero had struck my exact opening. His precision and combat sense were different. ...It was as if the First Hero himself had truly arrived.
Edmund's reason for breaking his own convictions to corner Shade was singular. Because that was what a Hero was. The final hope. A hero who grew strongest when wounded. To hold back against such an opponent without killing them would be closer to contempt. ...There had to be something more.
'If I directly hint at his ability..., his imagination will hit a wall.'
Kuhk. Edmund coughed up dark red blood and smiled. His body had already reached its limit. The power of an Outer God was far too immense for a single human to bear. If Shade dragged this out or focused on protecting his companions, Edmund would die. But his opponent didn't do that.
'He's definitely different from the others.'
Instead of cursing his paintings as grotesque or unpopular like everyone else, Shade was approaching to end his life directly. If he truly hated the art, he wouldn't show that expression. ...Edmund couldn't afford to miss even a single moment.
"As expected, this isn't enough to kill you."
Edmund laughed as he watched Shade grab the white Hero's sword. It was the portrait of the First Hero he'd seen as a child, overlaid with his own imagination. He referenced what needed referencing while infusing it with his own originality. That was both Edmund's creed as a creator and his tribute to those who had walked the path before him.
"I almost died..., you bastard...!"
Shade spat curses while coughing blood. Thanks to the chainmail and armor beneath his hood, the sword had only pierced shallowly. Maybe those who had experienced war really were different. Strangely, the insults didn't bother him.
"If Raybi's healing had been even a little slower, it would've torn through my heart...!"
Kudududuk. Crack—!
Shade snapped the First Hero's sword with pure strength. ...The Hero party's companions were probably starting to regain consciousness. If he copied Calliope's strength, it would become difficult to win. But the key to slaying an Outer God had to be someone who had broken free from the framework of fate. There was a limit to borrowing others' power.
"It seems I can't kill you after all, Shade."
Just a little more and he could complete his masterpiece. Even as his vision blurred, Edmund struggled to capture as much of Shade onto the canvas as possible. He could do it. No—he had to. Even if his life as a painter ended here, it didn't matter. He was the only one who could bring this subject to life. ...He had admired the First Hero since childhood and wanted to create a work as his fan.
"Art should never be used to hate or kill people."
"Weren't you just trying to kill me?"
"For my final work.... I thought holding back would be an insult to the subject."
Shade's clones were disappearing. Since they weren't copies but beings borrowed from another world, they had a time limit.
"...Ever since I was young, the world I saw was a little different from others. To pour that onto the canvas without holding back, I had to give it my whole heart, didn't I?"
But seeing that sight, Edmund could finally smile. The one who had abandoned the Hero's role and fled to another world.... ...The story of starting from the bottom once more as a Hero to repel the Outer God. Yes, that was how this painting should be interpreted to be interesting.
"...My name is Edmund Hagenrot. I hope I remain in your memories."
"Yeah. I won't forget you."
All the clones vanished, and Shade spoke while blocking the painted figures with the holy sword. A Hero was, by nature, someone who created hope even at the end of despair. Bearing the shadow, crossing black and white, even if everything turned to ash—they had to keep moving toward the light. That was Edmund's image of a Hero. He placed his final hope on it. That the legacy he left behind would become the portrait of the hero who would slay the Outer God.... Because that was what he had wanted more than anyone.
"The First Hero and the others said the system still isn't active...."
──Wheeik.
Shade responded with a whistle. Behind him, the figure of a person with slightly lighter hair overlapped.
"...This will have to do for now."
The being who had been another possibility for Shade, the person who had lived before he reincarnated as the boy Ryu Harang. And even though it should have been a name erased by the Outer God, it was the alias Shade had used—
The Third Hero. Gray Arthurcrown. That information reflected clearly in Edmund's eyes, who had borrowed Cthulhu's power.